Divination
by paperbkryter
Summary: Set just after the S1 Episode Shadow - Max Miller is still on Sam's mind as the brother's investigate another psychic with the ability to see the future. Could she be one of "them" or something else?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

I started this story back in Season 1, after Shadow aired. I've worked on it on and off ever since, but it never seemed to be able to find a conclusion.

Until now.

I plan on posting in several chapters. (I probably won't make it to 10)

I hope you enjoy the read.

* * *

Her name was Lisa Holland. 

Sam slapped a piece of paper down on the table in front of his brother and stabbed a finger at it as he squeezed his tall frame into the booth Dean had schmoozed out of the harried hostess. It was half price appetizer night. The restaurant was packed and she hadn't wanted to give up a whole booth to just two people. He had turned on the charm and she'd caved. It did not escape his attention that she'd made sure she seated them where she watch him from her station at the front of the joint.

He lifted his bottle of beer and toasted her before he drank. She blushed and looked coy, but she also winked back at him from beneath a fall of auburn hair. Niiiiice. There was definitely a potential for sex in Dean's near future and he didn't need Sam's foresight to tell him that. What he did need was for Sam not to be a shit when he snuck out to meet the luscious Denise at the end of her shift.

It was time to be nice to the little brother.

"Okay," he said. "What?"

"Read it." Sam scowled at his brother, but grinned at the waitress. "Can I have a cola?"

"Sure. Plain?"

"With a slice of lime, thanks."

Dean rolled his eyes. With Sam drinking sugar and caffeine instead of alcohol there was no chance he would mellow out over Dean's rendezvous with Denise, nor conveniently pass out and be oblivious to it. If Dean wanted to get away easily, he was really going to have to humor Sam.

So, with a sigh, he read the article. Lisa Holland of the frizzy brown hair and large round eyes, was a psychic operating out of a small town in Arkansas. Specifically, she possessed the ability to see future events with startling accuracy. Several minor accidents, a trio of deaths, and other local events, had been foretold by Lisa days, even months in advance. Blah, blah, blah, Dean had heard it all before.

Another sip of brew, and Dean pushed the article back across the table. "No," he said, and as he expected, Sam took offense to the decision.

"Dean, look..."

Dean felt Denise slipping out of his grasp because humoring Sam on this point stuck in his craw. He shook his head. "No, Sam. I know you want to find some sort of daisy chain connection between yourself and that Max guy and every other mind freak out there, but it's a waste of time. If we took time out to investigate every quack psychic that comes down the pike we'll never get anywhere."

Sam waited until the waitress was gone again before responding. He hunched across the table with a wide eyed expression, his hands wrapped around his glass as if it were a talisman. "I know, I know, but how can we just blow off what happened to Max? I mean come on, Dean. It's _got_ to mean something. It's all got to be connected somehow!"

"Yeah, maybe," Dean muttered.

The admission was hard. Dean had looked Max Miller in the eye just before the nutjob nearly killed him, and he had seen quite clearly there was _nobody home_. Something had gone south, way south, in the guy's head and Dean didn't want Max connected with Sam in any way, shape, or form. When Sam had revealed that they could add telekinesis to the list along with his already established precognative abilities Dean had nearly pissed himself. His comment, "Well I'm sure it won't happen again," had not been to make _Sam_ feel better.

"If this was just some chick with a crystal ball and a deck of cards it would be one thing, but she's been almost a hundred percent accurate with her predictions, it's obvious from the way this article reads that she hasn't gone out of her way to seek publicity, and..." Sam jabbed at the paper again. "Her parents died in a fire, Dean, when she was an infant."

"A lot of people die in fires."

"How many of their kids turn psychic?"

"I don't know, but how come I get the feeling that you're gonna want to get up close and personal with all of them?" Dean snorted and took another swig from his beer.

Sam leaned back in his seat, staring intently at his drink. He plucked the lime off the rim of the glass and squeezed it into the cola."It's not like we're doing anything anyway, and we could be there in a day."

"That's not the point, Sam."

"What_ is _the point?" Sam's intense stare moved from his drink to Dean's eyes. "If this stuff is connected to the thing that killed Mom..."

"Which Dad is on top of," Dean interjected. "He told us to stay out of it. You go messing around with these 'maybe connected' people and you could screw everything up for him!"

Sam's eyes narrowed angrily. "And it would be his damn fault for not telling us what is going on! We have every right to know, Dean!"

"Oh, here we go..."

"And I have a right to know what's happening to me. It's my head that's messed up, not his!"

The retort Dean had on the tip of his tongue dissolved in a wave of self doubt. Sam hadn't pulled this card before, and it was hard to deny that he had a point. If Dean had suddenly found himself seeing the future, he'd probably want to figure out what caused it too, mainly so that he could get rid of it.

He spun the beer bottle around beneath one finger, silently daring it to tip over completely. "You should have told him."

"Like he gave me time before he took off."

Dean shrugged. "There's always voice mail."

"Dean."

Sighing, he watched as Denise led a young couple past and seated them at a nearby table. She grinned at him when she went back to her podium and Dean turned his head to get a good look at her shimmy shimmy shake. It was mighty fine, and damn if he wasn't going to get a piece of it.

He turned back to his brother. Sam was giving him "the look."

"All right, we'll go," Dean muttered, and then grinned as Denise passed by on her return trip and purposely brushed up against his shoulder. "But under one condition."

* * *

Sam didn't understand. 

Twenty four hours had passed since Dean had picked his brother up in front of the hotel and Sam was still acting pissy. He'd been late, not arriving until close to noon and Sam had been in a foul, foul mood because of the delay.

_"Where the Hell have you been?"_

Dean had been sleeping off a night of too much drinking and a couple rounds of sex with what turned out to be the nearly insatiable Denise. Oddly, her over-enthusiasm made him miss Cassie even more, and Dean did _not_ want to go there.

With Cassie on his mind, Sam's criticisms of Dean's one night stands were like bamboo slivers under his nails. He cracked jokes and blew it off before driving through a fast food joint to get Sam the food and coffee that would shut him up. It was all right for Sam to be critical, sure, he'd only been in a stable relationship for nearly two years with Jessica and Dean knew he had a couple of relationships, of only slightly shorter duration, prior to meeting_ her_.

So Dean didn't want to hear it. Sam didn't understand how it worked when you never stayed in one place more than a week. He had struggled with not being able to be completely truthful with Jess but when you were on the job twenty-four seven like Dean was, it was impossible to reveal anything at all. The one night stand made it easier. He didn't have to tell anyone squat, nobody cared, and nobody got hurt.

The hurt was the hardest thing. He'd learned that with Cassie, and like most things that caused Dean Winchester pain, he vowed never to let it happen again. She was enough.

She was more than enough. If things were different...

Sam's voice drew him out of his reverie before it went deep enough to start hurting.

"Turn right at the stop sign. It's 438 Sundown Dr."

Dean eased the Impala around the corner onto a narrow street lined with small tract houses of the type built in the late fifties, early sixties. The little cracker box houses with their weed choked yards and crooked porches did not give an impression of affluence. Number 438 was no different from any of the other homes on the block save for a large tree in the front yard and the neat little flower boxes under each window. Someone had made an attempt to brighten up the place.

They pulled up into the driveway behind another Chevy, a black '84 Cavalier with a dent in the rear quarter panel. Sam peered out at the house. "This is it."

"You'd think she could at least predict the winning Power Ball number and get out of this neighborhood," Dean muttered. He eyed the neighbor's house warily. A man stood on the porch smoking a cigarette and eyeing Dean just as warily. A second guy sat on a step drinking from a bottle concealed inside a paper bag. Both of them looked as if they hadn't bathed in a month. "I wouldn't give those two the time of day, let alone borrow a cup of sugar."

"Mmm," Sam pushed open his door. "Come on."

"Actually," Dean added, as he got out of the car (making sure it was locked, although he feared for his hubcaps) "Maybe _you_ should predict the winning Power Ball number."

"What the hell would you do if I did, Dean?" Sam asked, turning around to walk backward up the walk. "You wouldn't buy a new car, you're too into 'the job' to settle down anywhere so you wouldn't buy a house, you dress like a bum..."

"Hey...!"

"Why do you need money?"

"Stuff."

Sam stopped walking and gave Dean a quizzical look. "Stuff?"

"Stuff," Dean repeated.

"What kind of stuff?"

"Guns, weapons, computers...do you know how much easier this would be if we had the latest technology? No more busted up Walkmen! They have EMF meters now that'll freakin' tell you a spirit's name, rank and serial number..."

Sam shook his head. "On a good day you scare the piss out of me." He turned around and went up the steps to the porch, ducking under a hanging planter on his way to the front door.

Scowling, Dean nearly hit the planter, swinging his head aside at the last minute. "What? I can't have stuff?"

"Like tasers?" Sam asked archly.

"Dude, not even close to funny." Dean said with a sniff. "Anyway, that was a fluke."

"Yeah, a fluke that nearly killed you. You're dangerous to yourself and others when you have stuff."

"I'm dangerous, period. Ha!"

"More like delusional." Sam reached out and pushed the doorbell.

They heard the chime from somewhere inside the house, followed immediately by barking. Seconds later the door shuddered in its frame as something heavy hit it from the inside. There was a window in the door and in it suddenly appeared the madly barking and growling face of the biggest German Shepherd Dean had ever seen. Its lips were drawn back in a hideous snarl. It barked incessantly, saliva flying from its mouth to spatter upon the window glass. Its paws, each nearly as big as Dean's hand, battered at the window as if it were trying to break free. If it did get out Dean had no doubt it would happily sink its huge white fangs into their throats.

Both brothers backed up a pace.

"Hello, Cujo." Dean leaned forward and tapped the window glass. "Nice puppy."

The dog went berserk, rattling the door with even more ferocity.

"Well, at least we know how she protects herself," Sam muttered. "Nobody is gonna bother her with him around."

They heard a woman's voice from inside the house. It gave a word of command and the dog immediately stopped barking. Dean saw motion behind the curtains, and again heard a woman's voice, but this time he very clearly heard her say, "Derek, get down."

Locks rattled. The door swung open just enough to reveal the diminutive Lisa Holland and the dog, Derek presumably, there on the threshold. She couldn't have been much more than five feet tall, with course brown hair in what could be described as "mousy" and large, pale gray eyes. The paleness of her skin indicated someone who didn't get outside much. Derek, Dean noted, was slightly more than half her size from his huge paws to his long pointed ears. He sat at her side quite calmly as if he hadn't been a salivating monster just seconds before, but his gaze had settled on Dean and his eyes clearly said that one false move would be all it took.

"Hi, uh," Sam smiled, turning on the charm. "Are you Lisa Holland?"

She looked suspicious, wary. "Yes."

"My name is Sam Winchester..."

Dean rolled his eyes. He didn't know if Sam purposely gave out their real names or if he just forgot, but one of these days his honesty was going to get them in trouble. They had between them a half dozen fake I.D.s - Sam needed to learn to use them.

"This is my brother Dean. We read Missy Carter's article in the St. Stephen's Gazette and wanted..."

Lisa's suspicious look changed to one of annoyance. "If you're looking for a fortune teller there's one in town, Madam Mim. You're wasting your time here."

She started to shut the door but Sam quickly put a hand on it to stop her. Derek immediately stood up and growled. Wisely, Sam snatched his hand back. He did not, however, give up that easily. Even with the dog growling at him he took a step forward to plead his case. He had balls, Dean had to give him that.

"Wait, wait! No. I just want to talk to you, about what you do."

The woman frowned. "Missy was an old friend. I don't talk to reporters."

"No, I'm not a reporter. I'm a student. I'm studying parapsychology at the University of Arkansas." The dimples came out and Sam chuckled a little. "You know, the whole untapped potential of the human mind thing."

"I'm not interested in being a test subject," Lisa snapped. "Get off my porch before I call the cops."

With that, before Sam or Dean could say another word, she slammed the door in their faces.

Seconds later Derek resumed his frenzied attack on the door, having been released from his command. His dark eyes bore into Dean's and the message, again, was crystal clear. _"You're dead meat buddy."_

"Mangy mutt," he growled back, and turned on his heel, falling in behind Sam who was already on his way to the car. "What now, Einstein? She's not going to tell us jack, especially since you gave her _that_ story." He unlocked Sam's door, and then his own, snorting derisively. "Untapped potential of the human mind..."

"I didn't want to tell her the truth," Sam said quietly. He gazed intently at the house as Dean started the car and began backing it out of the driveway.

"That's a first."

Shaking his head, Sam tore his gaze away from the house and looked at his brother. "Something isn't right there, Dean."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. I just...I picked up some really weird vibes."

Dean stopped at the stop sign, and then turned back onto the main road that would lead them back into St. Stephens. He'd seen a motor lodge on the far side of town. They'd been driving all night. It was time to put down anchor and rest for a while, and decide where to go next, although Dean definitely had a feeling Sam wasn't done yet.

"Hard not to pick up bad vibes with the canine version of Charles Manson sitting there looking at you like you're a prime rib. Who names a dog Derek?"

"It wasn't the dog, it was her."

"You think she was hiding something?" Dean nodded. "She's probably lying, Sam. You heard her, that reporter was an old friend of hers. They've cooked up this story as some sort of publicity stunt."

"For what gain? You saw how she lives."

"I dunno. Maybe this Missy gal is trying to promote tourism, get this hick town on the map, or maybe she was looking for a story that would put _her_ on the map; something to put on her resume."

Sam was shaking his head. "No. It's something else. Something darker."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Demonic?"

"I don't know." He looked at Dean with a grave expression on his face. "But I definitely think we need to dig a little deeper into this, Dean."

Sam's abilities might have been outside his control, unpredictable as to when they would manifest, but when they did they were startlingly on the ball. If Sam said something was wrong, something was wrong.

"All right. Let's get a room, have some lunch, and work on it. You see what you can find out about Ms. Holland, and I'll go talk to the reporter."


	2. Chapter 2

The St. Stephens Gazette was located in a tiny corner store front down town. When Dean walked in to inquire about Missy Carter, the soul occupant of the newspaper office pointed him in the direction of the used book store next door. Apparently the two reporters on the Gazette's staff did double duty as store clerks.

A bell rang as Dean pushed open the door to the book store. A dusty, slightly mildewy scent mingled with the scent of cinnamon air freshener. Metal utility shelves, nothing fancy, were lined up down one wall with hand lettered signs taped to their ends indicating what could be found among the books crammed into them. Stacks of books sat against another wall and surrounded the desk A blond woman sat at the desk reading a magazine and eating an apple. She looked up as Dean entered, peering at him from behind a pair of stylish glasses. She was quite pretty in a country girl sort of way. Anywhere else she might have been considered plain.

"Can I help you?"

"If you're Missy Carter you can."

She put down the magazine and took off her glasses. "I'm Missy," she said in a leisurely Arkansas drawl. "Who might you be?"

"John Stanley," Dean said. "I'm studying parapsychology at the University of Arkansas and I saw your article about Lisa Holland."

Missy stood up and came around to the other side of the desk. She sat down on the edge. "Yeah? What about it?"

"Is it true, what she's done?"

She hesitated, giving him a careful look before replying. "Are you questioning my journalistic integrity, Mr. Stanley?"

"Hell no," Dean replied promptly, wondering if Ms. Carter was going to be as difficult to deal with as her buddy Lisa. "But I think, being a reporter, you can understand that some questions have to be asked."

She shrugged. "This is a small town. Not much goes on here. I write a human interest column once a month featuring folk in the community. That month I had nada, and I talked Lisa into giving me an exclusive. People were talking, wanting to know more, because yeah, she has come up with some kooky stuff."

"She said you were friends."

"You talked to her?" Missy frowned.

"Briefly, before she slammed the door in my face."

"Yeah, that would be Lisa. No," she said. "We aren't exactly friends. We just went to high school together."

Dean could guess the real relationship. Missy had been on the cheerleading squad, pretty and popular. Lisa, with her big buggy eyes and frizzy hair, had been bookish and quiet, ignored or quite possibly made fun of by the other kids. She would have been honored at any attention Missy gave her.

"Do you believe her claims?"

"Oh yeah, I do. If you're here to debunk her, good luck. When it first started happening she came to me, and Sheriff Dunbar to tell us what she'd seen. We blew her off at first until she was proven right. She told Dunny to close off Roundabout Way, our local deadman's curve, 'cause it was going to get cold and someone was going to have an accident."

"That's not hard to predict. A road with a history of accidents, unusually cold weather..."

"You'd think, yeah, but Lisa not only told us what day, but what time of day and who it would be. Dunny's still upset that he didn't believe her. Young kid from the community college got killed. His truck hit a patch of ice and went off the road."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And the other incidents?"

"Similar. Mrs. Pringle had a heart attack. Francis Gordon broke her ankle falling down her basement stairs. Lisa even told Dunny his daughter got knocked up by the kid she was dating." Missy frowned. "That went over real well."

"Has she ever been wrong?"

"Nope. The closest she's been to getting something wrong was when she said Marty Scott's trailer was going to catch fire at Christmas. It didn't, but someone else's did and it looked almost exactly like Marty's right down to wreath on the front door."

Motion caught Dean's eye. He turned to see Sam peering in the front window of the bookstore, obviously looking for him. It was time to wrap up the interview.

"Thanks," he said. "You know, is there any way you could maybe get Lisa to talk with us herself?"

"Not a chance in hell," Missy remarked. "It took a lot to get her to let me use her for the article, and then she got pissed off because people started harassing her. I can't get near her anymore without her pointing that damn dog at me."

Dean grinned cockily. "Derek? That sweet little puppy?"

"That sweet little puppy nearly tore a guy's arm off last week. She's lucky he was blatantly trespassing or he probably would have sued her. He still might try it."

"Ah, well thanks again, Missy. Are you okay with me calling you Missy?"

"Yes, and if you're heading for a pick up line..." She looked Dean carefully up and down and sniffed. "I'm not interested."

Dean blinked, surprised. Her look of distaste was unmistakable. "Uh, oh. Okay."

He had been wondering if maybe Missy wouldn't go for a drink later. He rationalized that in going out with her he might be able to talk her into trying to make amends with Lisa and therefore have an in with the woman himself. It was obviously a no-go, and relatively new territory for Dean Winchester, chick magnet. Not many women turned him down.

Missy got up and went back around to her seat at the desk. She replaced her glasses, sat down, and picked up her magazine again.

Dean took that as a dismissal. He walked out with a bruised ego and watering eyes. The bookstore was an allergy sufferers nightmare and he didn't even _have _allergies. As soon as he hit the street he sneezed.

Sam waited outside, leaning on the front of the Impala that Dean had parked at a meter in front of the Gazette. He looked up as Dean approached.

"Well?"

"She's clean, the cold hearted bitch." Dean joined his brother at the car. "I don't think the story was anything but filler. There's just nothing going on in this burg."

"Yeah, I kind of got that impression. They'll probably print anything just to keep the paper in circulation."

"Story is accurate though. Missy claims to believe Lisa's got some sort of precognative power. All the predictions came true, and she gave me examples of a couple that hadn't been in the article. I didn't feel like she was lying about any of it."

Sam nodded as he pulled a notebook out of his pocket. "I went to the cafe down the street. Talked to a couple of people there, including the sheriff. They all believe she's been, quote, 'touched by God,' end quote."

"You still think she might be related to you and Max?"

"Nu-huh. Pattern doesn't fit. I got more details on the fire that killed her parents. Her father was a drunk, fell asleep with a lit cigarette. Lisa was two, and her mother threw her out an upstairs window to a neighbor before going back inside the house for some unknown reason. Both she and her husband died of smoke inhalation. Lisa was raised by her aunt, who left her that house when she died three years ago. The premonitions started the summer before last, long before mine started." He flicked a finger against the notebook. "And there's nothing besides that to indicate any trauma, physical or emotional, that may have triggered her abilities either."

"Maybe she doesn't have any abilities." Dean procured Sam's notebook and leafed through the notes he'd taken based on his interviews. "Maybe she's causing these accidents."

"Dean, she predicted the sheriff's teenaged daughter was going to get pregnant. Unless she's an incubus in disguise I hardly think she caused that!"

"You're assuming she's causing them by mundane ways, Sam."

Sam cocked his head, drawing his brows together. "A curse?"

"Ye-up. Or she's getting something else to do her dirty work for her, like Mrs. LeGrange back in Nebraska."

Dean hated to think that was the scenario. Having been on the receiving end during the whole LeGrange situation, he really didn't want to deal with a similar issue so soon. He remained a little - bruised - from the near death experience and what had followed it. Still, Lisa having a supernatural accomplice was a viable explanation for what was happening here. The key would be finding out how Lisa was doing it, and for that...

"We need to get into that house," Sam murmured.

Startled, Dean looked at him, wondering, not for the first time, if Sam wasn't soon going to be adding telepathy to his portfolio. He shrugged it off though, the answer had been obvious after all. Sam would have drawn the same conclusion Dean did without reading Dean's thoughts.

"Yeah," he replied. "But first we need to get her out of it, and then we need to get rid of Derek."

* * *

Getting Lisa out of the house proved easier than they expected. Further investigation revealed her membership in a book club that met every Tuesday night in a neighboring town. It was an hour there, an hour for the meeting, and an hour back; three hours was more than enough time for them to search the house. Derek was the fly in the ointment. Lisa left him behind to guard the house. There was some debate on how to get past him as Sam apparently thought Dean was just going to shoot the dog and be done with it. Dean, however, came up with a more humane solution.

"I can't believe you stole a dog," Sam complained, pushing said dog's muzzle away as it tried to lick his face over the back of the seat.

"Borrowed a dog," Dean said. "Borrowed." He glanced over his shoulder where the big Newfoundland mix was shedding hair and drooling all over the Impala's back seat. " 'cause I'm not going to keep him, that's for sure."

"Oh, thank god for that." Rolling his eyes, Sam fended off the dog's undying love once again. "He stinks. Where the hell did you get him?"

"In some guy's yard. I'll put him back when we're done."

They had passed the St. Stephens veterinary hospital on their way in to town. Now Dean pulled up in the parking lot and got out of the car, telling both the dog and Sam to "stay" as he went rummaging through the trunk. He came back with a leash.

Sam looked at him and frowned. "Should I ask why you have a leash in the trunk?"

"Nope," Dean flashed him a grin as he attached the leash to the dog's collar. "Trust me Sam, some things you really don't want to know."

"It's some kinky sex thing isn't it?"

Dean paused, looking slightly sheepish. He could feel his face flush as he made his denial. "No, it's not some kinky sex thing. Here." Quickly he handed Sam the leash to end the conversation. "Go in there and tell them you're on a cross county road trip and Fido here has run out of doggy downers."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you're cute and innocent looking. They'll believe you. Me - they'd think I was planning on reselling the stuff to elementary school kids or somethin'. " The dog tried to lick Sam's face again. "Besides, he loves you."

Sam grumbled, but he led the dog out of the car. "You owe me one."

"Yeah, yeah, shut up and get in there Dr. Doolittle."

Dean leaned against the car as Sam disappeared into the vet's office with the tail-wagging mutt in tow. A half hour later they had returned their accomplice to his yard and were on their way to see Derek armed with a pound of hamburger and a bottle of canine sleeping pills. They parked behind the house in the alley and hit the back door. Within seconds of their stepping up to the door Derek was there throwing himself at it in a frenzied attack. There was no window, so they couldn't see him, but they could hear his growls and the scrape of his teeth and claws against the wood.

Sam laced the hamburger with the recommended dosage of medicine while Dean worked on picking the lock. It opened easily, so did the door, and if the chain had not been on it he would have been in big trouble. He leaped backward as Derek shoved his muzzle out through the gap between door and frame. The dog was snarling and snapping, biting the door as if it were trying to rip it open. It was a far cry from the friendly Newfie mutt.

"Give me that broom," Dean made a grabbing motion with his hand and Sam complied, handing him the broom propped up beside the door. He used the broom to shove the paper tray of hamburger though the door, which he then slammed shut. Derek's guarding instinct gave way to his hunger instinct and they heard him downing the meat almost immediately. When it was gone he resumed his attack on the door.

It didn't last long. After a while the barking stopped. Dean pressed his ear to the door and heard the dog yawn. A few minutes later there was absolute silence, even when Sam reached out and knocked. They opened the door. Dean stuck a hand in and waved it around. When he pulled his hand out intact he deemed it safe to enter.

With one swift kick to pop the lock, the two of them entered to begin their search. Derek was sprawled out asleep in a doggy bed by the back door. He did not budge as they passed him.

Dean hit Sam in the chest. "Is your brother a genius or what?" he whispered.

"Yeah, whatever. Let's just get this over with before he wakes up."

There was nothing unusual about the house. It was small, neat, and tidy without a whole lot of clutter. In the living room the furniture was worn, but comfortable, with a bookshelf filled with paperback romances. The television was small, with only a decrepit rabbit ear antenna - no cable or satellite. She had a VCR, but no DVD player, and a box full of movies - mostly sappy romances.

"What does she do for a living?" Dean asked, before they split up to search the rest of the house.

"Web designer." Sam jerked his head toward one of two bedrooms. "A pretty good one too from what I was told."

Lisa might not have had an entertainment center full of state of the art electronics, but her computer was the best available on the market and loaded with extras. In fact, she had two. The bedroom was her office. Not only did she have the two computers, but she had printers, scanners, a copier, a fax machine and a multi-lined phone. Dean whistled. Sam looked longingly at a brand new laptop she had stashed on a bookshelf.

"Maybe she's using the computer to see the future."

"Oh, come on, Dean. You don't honestly believe that do you?"

"Objects can be possessed, Sam. Combine some sort of supernatural power with toaster and who knows what you'd get." He rolled his eyes at his brother's skeptical look. "Hello? What business are we in again? Stuff that doesn't make sense makes sense."

"_That_ didn't make any sense."

"Dude! _Maximum Overdrive_?"

"Hmm. Let me guess. That's either a movie or we're discussing your libido again." Sam grinned. "By the way, did you wear the dog collar or did she?"

Dean growled and shoved him toward the kitchen. "Shut up. Go check out the basement before Lassie wakes up. I'll take the other bedroom."

The other bedroom was Lisa's bedroom, and it was just as neat, tidy and sparsely decorated as the living room. Dean went through her drawers, her closet, and checked under the bed. On the bookshelf/bedside table were more of the same romance novels that were in the living room. He pulled one out and looked at a cover featuring a woman lying back in a man's arms as if she'd fainted. Her low cut, lacy dress revealed plenty of cleavage. He wasn't wearing a shirt.

Dean idly leafed through the pages, wincing at first, but after a skimming around for a moment he soon found himself caught up in a soft core sex scene featuring "heaving bosoms" and "rippling muscles" and a whole lot of "thrusting hips." Distracted, he sat down on the bed. The captain's first mate interrupted the sex to tell his superior that pirates were off the starboard bow. Apparently Christina of the heaving bosoms was the pirate captain's daughter. Completely entranced by the prospect of a sea battle in which there would be canon fire and possibly a sword fight, Dean didn't notice Sam had come back and was leaning against the doorjamb, watching him read.

"What are you doing?"

After his initial start of surprise, Dean hastily replaced the book on the shelf. "How can anyone read that crap?"

Sam snorted laughter. "That's a good question, and considering you were sitting there reading that crap just now, why don't you answer it?"

"I wasn't reading it. I was...looking for clues."

"Oh, so now you're thinking Lisa is divining the future through romance novels?"

"Have I told you lately that you're a prick?" Dean stood up. "What did you find in the basement?"

"Dirty laundry," Sam sighed. "And not much else." He scowled deeply, his unease clearly written upon his face.. "I can't shake this though, Dean. There's something...not...right, here."

"Spirit? Demon? Shapeshifter? Is she a witch?"

"I don't know."

"You're running out of choices, Sam. This girl is about as mousy as they come. Are you sure your radar isn't just having a senior moment?"

"I'm sure." Sam sighed again, and pushed himself off the doorjamb.

As Sam stood up straight, he also took a step into the room, allowing more of the hallway behind him to be seen. Dean looked down the hall and what he saw there made him freeze, every muscle going tense.

"Sam," he said quickly, quietly.

"What?"

"Shut the door."

"What? Why?"

"Just. Shut. The. Damn. Door."

Sam would have to be stubborn. Sam would have to turn around and see for himself what Dean was looking at behind him.

What Dean was looking at was Derek, standing (albeit a little wobbly) at the end of the hallway with his hackles raised and his teeth bared. As soon as Sam looked back at him he charged, stumbling a little at first, but quickly gaining speed as he rushed down the hall like a locomotive at full throttle. Dean watched as his brother whipped around with his eyes as big around as dinner plates.

"Oh, crap!"

As fast as he could, Sam grabbed the door and slammed it shut. It had no sooner closed when there was a bang and frenzied barking from the other side. Sam stood with his back against the door staring at Dean with a horrified expression.

"That's no dog, that's a hell hound! He should have been sleeping for hours!"

"No," Dean said calmly, going over to the window and unlocking it. "It's just a dog, but it's a freakin' monster of a dog. I just got the dosage wrong." He opened the window and took out the screen. "Come on, time to bail."

"Dean!"

Dean already had one leg out the window. He glanced back over his shoulder. "What?"

"I can't let go of the door."

"Sure you can, he can't get through a solid door, Sammy. He's just a _dog_."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "The latch is busted."

"What?" Dean jerked his leg back in the window.

"If I move this door is going to fly open, that dog will get in, and there's no way I'm going to get from here to that window without losing a limb!"

There was a pause in the growling as Derek sniffed at the crack at the bottom of the door. They heard a doggy snort, and then the attack began anew. From the sound of things the dog was bouncing his front paws off the door in an attempt to open it. The door actually bounced in its frame, even with Sam's full weight against it. Derek weighed almost as much as he did.

Dean was intrigued. "There's got to be some wolf in that dog," he said, watching the door rebounding from each hit. "He's huge."

"Will you shut up and do something!"

The low bookshelf next to Lisa's bed was an old, solid piece of furniture. Fully loaded with books, it had to weigh at least as much as Sam. Even if Derek did manage to get the door open enough to get in, it would still take him a while, and by then they'd be long gone. Dean took the lamp and the phone off the bookcase and dragged it toward the door. A few of the books tumbled out of it to the floor, but most of them remained. Sam grabbed it the other side as it came within his reach and together they wedged it up against the door.

Dean crouched down to push the bottom closer to the door, and that's when he noticed that the books had been placed on the shelves two rows deep. Behind the pink and yellow paperback romance novels were old, dark, leather-bound volumes, and some newer hardcovers. Dean read some of the titles and called Sam down to look.

Ignoring how the shelf vibrated from Derek's efforts beyond the door, Sam examined the books. His face fell into a deep frown. "Celtic rituals. Druidism?" He pulled one of the older books off the shelf and looked through it, shaking his head. "This is written in Gaelic."

"I thought you read Gaelic?"

"Dad reads Gaelic. I only know Latin and a little French."

"Damn," Dean growled. It wouldn't be the first time he wished their father wasn't AWOL.

Sam replaced the book and looked through some of the others. There were dozens of books about the occult. "It's not just the Celts she's interested in either. _Greek and Roman Mythology and Magic, Ancient Religions of Brittany and France..._" He stopped, and pointed at one thin volume wedged in between two thicker tomes. "_Pagan Rites of Prophecy and Divination. _think we hit the jackpot"

On the other side of the door, Derek began digging at the carpet and growling with more intensity. Dean tugged at his brother's shirt. "Come on. We'll look them up online. Let's get out of here before that dog gets in and has us for dinner."

They let go of the bookcase and headed quickly for the window. Dean wiped off as many surfaces as he could on the way out, just in case Lisa decided to have the cops investigate. He slammed the window shut behind him just as he saw Derek shove through the bedroom door. The bookcase tipped over with a crash. Books went flying everywhere as the dog lunged toward the window.

Dean shot it the bird, and took off running.

"Stupid mutt."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam sat hunched over the laptop with a scowl on his face. "Do you know how many different types of divination there are? There are literally hundreds. Look at this: _alectromancy_, divination by a rooster pecking grain; _gyromancy_, divination by whirling around until dizzy and falling."

Dean grinned from where he was perched cross-legged on a bed, flipping through the television channels. "So that's how you do it."

"No, I'm clairvoyant, which is also listed here." With a sigh, Sam leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his temples. "Now we know what she's doing, but we still don't know how she's doing it, or why."

"Why ask why?" Dean paused on a basketball game. "Does that really matter at this point? Whatever her motives are, she's dabbling in something she probably shouldn't."

"But she could be perfectly harmless, Dean. There's a type of divination using onions for god's sake."

"Oh, now see, _that_ is evil."

Sam shook his head. "Man, I don't know, maybe my radar _is_ out of whack. That whole thing with Max...maybe I'm just stressed out, jumping at shadows."

Dean looked at him. He did seem very tired. There was sort of a "pinched" look to his face, and his shoulders were hunched in, making him look far older than twenty three. Sam bore a heavy burden these days, and it frustrated Dean to no end that he couldn't help him carry it.

"Look, Sammy," he said. "You picked up a bad vibe right away. It hasn't gotten any better, right? You felt it tonight too."

"Yeah."

"Obviously something is going on, because that chick certainly didn't seem to want us poking around. She doesn't want anyone poking around in her business or she wouldn't have that damn hound from hell guarding her. _And_ she was hiding those books. Why hide them? If she's divining via vegetables, what does she have to worry about?"

"I guess," Sam admitted. "But is this our type of gig? Here we are again dealing with someone human."

Dean flipped off the T.V. and swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed. "We hunt evil, Sam. It takes a lot of different forms. If Lisa Holland is dabbling in the dark arts we need to put a stop to it, 'cause there's no telling what she might do. Maybe she's looking into the future today, but tomorrow she might be summoning demons, and that _is_ our kind of gig."

Sam didn't answer right away. He sat at the table, head bowed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah," he said quietly. "But we've got to narrow this down and I don't see how...ah, damn."

"Sam?"

"Uh..." Bracing his hands on the edge of the table, Sam bent over it further, his face twisted with pain. "Dean..."

"Sammy?" Dean winced in sympathy as his brother hunched over with his head in his hands. He'd been hoping that the waking visions would go away after the confrontation with Max and his subsequent death. Apparently that was not to be the case since Sam was obviously doubled up with one now.

Dean got off the bed, and knelt beside his brother, steadying him as Sam raised his head and "looked" at something only he could see. It was disarming to watch him do it. Dean felt that for the brief amount of time in which the vision occurred, Sam was completely _gone_. His face went slack, and his eyes grew vacant. It was an R.E.M. state falling somewhere in the gray area between conscious and subconscious, and no amount of shaking or shouting could snap him out of it. Dean's greatest fear was that one day Sam might not come back at all. He could only wait with baited breath for it to end.

Finally Sam blinked, and gasping, came up from his trance. He looked at Dean, horrified. "Missy Carter is going to be attacked tonight."

"By who?"

"I don't know, but you're going to find her and they're going to arrest you for it. Lisa has probably already told the sheriff she had a vision of you attacking Missy."

"Man...how come I'm always the one in trouble with the police?" Rising, Dean pulled his coat off the back of the other chair. "Did you see where it happened?"

Sam's expression was one of alarm. "Wait, you're not planning on going out there are you?"

"Of course I am!"

"Dean. If you find her the sheriff will be there to arrest you!"

"And if we hurry up," Dean said. "We can get there before she's attacked."

"But..."

"Sam. If we can prevent it, that's good. If I get arrested, we're just following destiny, right? Come on!"

Reluctantly, Sam grabbed his coat and followed. Dean already had the car running by the time he closed the motel room door behind him, and the Impala was already rolling as Sam shut the car's passenger's door. A flip of a switch and the headlights illuminated the road before them, a road Dean wasn't sure was taking them in the right direction.

"Where? Where?"

"The newspaper office." Sam rubbed his forehead again. If he'd looked tired before, he looked exhausted now.

"You okay?"

"Headache."

"One of _those _kind of headaches?"

"No." After a sigh, Sam raised his head. "I hate this, Dean. I mean, what if it just gets worse and worse. Max only had one ability and it drove him crazy."

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He'd known this was going to come up again. Like the waking visions he'd hoped it had been swept under the rug. No such luck.

"You are not Max, Sam. The kid had a screw loose before he even started tossing around the cutlery, okay. You're not gonna go freaky and kill people."

"Maybe we can say that now but what about a few months down the road, huh?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean shook his head. "You. Are. Not. Max. End of story, Sammy. Understand?"

Sam was mad. Out of the corner of his eye Dean could see him staring angrily out the window. Angrily, as if Dean hadn't just told him he _wasn't_ crazy. No matter how hard he tried, there were some days where Sam was utterly incomprehensible.

"Sam?"

"I heard you. It's dropped. Just get us where we're going."

That was all right with Dean. Speed was something he did understand. He put his foot down on the gas and the Impala leaped forward like her namesake, tearing down the road well over the legal speed limit. They were only minutes from downtown. Dean shortened that time by half, but it still wasn't enough. When they pulled up to the Gazette building the lights were out inside and Sam's frantic banging on the door failed to produce an answer. He motioned to Dean to go around back, started to follow, but Dean cut him off with a scowl and a chopping gesture. Both of them could not risk getting arrested.

Sam stayed in front. Dean edged around the side of the building. Along the way he paused to pick up a broken broom handle leaning against a trash can. He hadn't brought the gun. If his fate was to spend a night in jail, he didn't want to complicate matters. Hopefully, however, they had made it in time to prevent the attack on Missy.

He quickly discovered they hadn't.

As he came around the row of trash cans, clutching the broom handle like a baseball bat, he saw her sprawled on the ground between the building and where her car was parked.

"Missy!"

There was no answer. Dean warily approached her, highly aware of the fact that her attacker might still be lingering. When he was sure there was no one else in the immediate vicinity, Dean quickly dropped to his knees beside the unconscious woman.

She lay face down, sprawled in a boneless heap on the pavement. Dean carefully turned her over, placing a hand to her neck to check her pulse and found it strong. There was an ugly, bloody gash on her forehead however, and her skin was freezing cold for obvious reasons. Her coat was gone, and her blouse had been ripped open, her bra torn to expose her breasts. Whoever had assaulted her might have had rape in mind; her pants were unzipped and pushed down to reveal pale, lacy panties. Stripping his coat off, Dean covered her to protect her modesty.

He was fumbling for his phone when the sheriff's car screeched up beside Missy's. The lights hit Dean full in the face, rendering him unable to see Sheriff Dunbar himself, but Dean didn't need to see him to know there was a gun in his hand. His tone of voice when he told Dean to drop to the pavement with his hands above his head was enough.

"Look, I didn't..."

"I said get down! Get down now you son of a bitch or I'll put a bullet in you, I swear to God!"

Dean rolled his eyes but he obeyed. He stretched out beside Missy, belly down, with his hands locked behind his head. Dunbar nearly ripped his arms off putting on the cuffs.

Sometimes, Dean thought as he was hauled to his feet and shoved head first into the back of a police cruiser, he hated Sam's premonitions with a passion.


	4. Chapter 4

The one bright spot to being locked up in the St. Stephens' police department's small holding cell, was the complete and utter confusion Dean's identity - or lack thereof - caused Sheriff Dunbar. Dean didn't go out of his way to help him figure it all out either. Instead he lounged on the bunk, feet up, head propped on up on a pillow, watching the sheriff sit at his desk with a trio of reports in front of him. Watching the sheriff's utterly perplexed expression as he struggled along trying to decipher this data was almost as good as Must See T.V.

When the good sheriff had opened Dean's wallet to look at his identification, he'd found a South Dakota driver's license and credit cards in the name of Robert P. Waters. When he'd run Dean's fingerprints he'd come up with Dean Winchester, who had been dead and buried since March. Finally, when she'd come around enough to talk, Missy had identified Dean as John Stanley, a student from Arkansas University.

To add insult to injury, Dunbar didn't really have enough evidence hold him. That had to be driving the man insane.

"You know," Dean said, getting up from his bunk to lean against the bars of his cage. "If you're going to call in a panel of celebrities to play _To Tell the Truth _with you, can you get Heather Locklear?"

Dunbar shot him a nasty look. He was a handsome man, Phil Dunbar, in his late forties. His dark hair was virtually free of gray save for a few streaks at each temple. Deep lines were etched into the edges of his eyes, betraying a man who either spent a lot of time squinting into the sun, or who smiled a lot. It was after dark now though, and he definitely wasn't smiling as he stalked over to the holding cell.

"You think this is funny?"

"This?" Dean shook his head. "Nah, this isn't funny. You're funny though - in a Barney Miller sort of way, but definitely not an Andy Taylor sort of way. You don't strike me as the kinda guy who would name their kid Opie."

"Shut up," Dunbar snapped. "Boy, you're lucky I don't come in there and punch your mouth so hard your tongue shoots out your asshole."

"Then I'd be able to kiss my own ass."

"You better be kissin' _my_ ass if you ever want out of there. What's your name?"

"Bobby Waters," Dean said promptly. "Says so right on my driver's license." He grinned. "Isn't that a great photo? Man, I am _so_ photogenic..."

"All right Bobby, you want to explain to me then, how you got the fingerprints of a dead man?"

"He wasn't using them anymore?"

The sheriff glared at him.

"Seriously, you can find anything on eBay..."

Phil Dunbar may have been twice Dean's age, but he was as quick as a man in his prime. Before Dean realized what was happening the sheriff had shot an arm through the bars of the cell and grabbed him by the shirt. He was jerked hard against the cell door so his face was just inches from that of the infuriated sheriff.

"You cut the crap and answer the question."

"You know, you could use a mint."

Dunbar gave a yank on Dean's shirt, a hard yank, and Dean didn't have time to prevent his forehead from bouncing off the bars. Yet again he wondered just why he never seemed to be able to rein in his mouth during situations where running it could get him seriously hurt. Dunbar didn't seriously hurt him, but he hit his head hard enough to see stars for a moment, and it made him realize he'd better answer the question.

"I don't know." Dunbar let go and Dean staggered back a step, rubbing his forehead where a knot was already forming. "Maybe it's a computer glitch or something."

"And the bullshit you told Missy?"

"I freelance for tabloids." Dean shrugged. "Figured she wouldn't talk to me if she knew I wasn't a _serious_ reporter like her, not to mention wanting a story on her freaky friend. Look, I didn't attack her. Why would I have put my coat over her if I was up to no good?"

"How do I know that's your coat?"

"Oh, come on! You got nothing but a so-called psychic's mystic vision to prove I had anything to do with this. That's weak, man, real weak." Dean snorted. "You don't believe that crap do you?"

Dunbar rubbed his face. He was in between a rock and a hard place and it showed. "She's never been wrong."

"And you don't think maybe she's rigged it? Maybe Lisa attacked Missy and then ran to you claiming she saw it in a vision."

"Lisa?" The sheriff laughed.

"Sure. Freaky girl finally gets fed up with the pretty cheerleader getting all the glory, decides to get even. Haven't you ever seen _Carrie_?"

"This is reality, not the movies."

"Sure it is," Dean said. "So you need to make up your mind, sheriff. Do you believe in Lisa's hocus pocus, or are you gonna do your job and look at the hard evidence? If you drag me in front of a judge with nothing but Lisa's testimony you'll get laughed right out of that uniform and into a straight jacket."

It was weird, Dean thought, to take the opposite stand on the subject of the paranormal. He was usually trying to convince people it existed, not convincing them it was bullshit. It was much easier to convince them it was bullshit.

Sheriff Dunbar turned away, stepping over to his desk where he pulled his coat off the back of the chair. His expression was thoughtful as he put it on and reached for his keys. "You just chill here a while Mr. Waters, or whatever your name is. I'll be back later."

"Where are you going?"

"To do my job," Dunbar growled, and headed for the front door.

"What? Wait! Hey!" Dean waved an arm out between the bars. "Come on! Don't leave me in..."

The sheriff exited, slamming the door behind him.

"Here." Dean leaned his head against the cell door. "Dammit. He could have at least left the radio on or something." He patted himself down, as if he hadn't already been patted down. "Man..."

His coat was sealed up in Dunbar's evidence locker – along with the paperclip Dean kept in his pocket for these type of emergencies.

"Son of a bitch."

* * *

It was well after midnight before the sheriff came back. Dean had fallen asleep on the cot after a deputy had dropped by to check on him and to bring him something to eat. Cold pizza wasn't high on Dean's list of favorite meals, but he was used to it from being on the road so much. He didn't know how many times he'd eaten cold pizza for breakfast. The deputy hadn't said much. Dunbar, he said, was investigating the crime scene.

Dean sat up and regarded the sheriff warily as he approached the cell. In the few hours he'd been gone, Dunbar looked like he'd aged. He wearily unlocked the cell door and swung it open, but he shot Dean a nasty look.

"My gut says you're in this up to your eyebrows, boy."

"Hmm, maybe it's just gas. I heard Mylanta is good for that sort of thing."

The sheriff growled.

"Bicarbonate of soda?"

"Shut up and get the hell out of my jail."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. This was an unexpected turn of events. "Guilty to my eyebrows and you're letting me go? Maybe you better get a second opinion from your lower intestine." Dunbar grabbed a handful of Dean's shirt and began dragging him toward the door. "Okay, okay, I'm going!"

He stumbled as the sheriff shoved him out the door and onto the sidewalk. Dunbar vanished back into the building and returned with Dean's leather jacket, which he proceeded to throw at him as hard as he could. Dean caught it quickly.

"I'm gonna be watching you," the sheriff intoned. "Make damn sure you keep your scrawny ass here in town."

Dean had no intention of leaving, not until he and Sam figured out what the hell was going on in this freaky little hamlet. That didn't stop him from goading. "And if I don't?" he challenged.

"This is a small town, boy. You take one step across the border and I'll know about it in seconds."

"Couldn't Lisa tip you off _before_ I left?"

Dunbar scowled darkly. Dean took his leave with a quick salute before his luck got pushed too far. Striding off down the sidewalk at a quick pace, he pulled his cell from his pocket. It occurred to him to wonder just why Sam hadn't come around the jail earlier to spring him, or at least to provide an alibi.

He got his brother's voice mail.

"Sammy? Where the hell are you? Dunbar let me go. Come pick me up outside the deli." He hung up, but paused before putting the phone back in his pocket. "Something's not right."

Without waiting for Sam to call him back, Dean stepped off the curb into the street and began making his way back to the motel on foot. He called a couple more times along the way. Both times he got voice mail again, heightening his unease. Sam didn't answer the phone, nor did the Impala cruise by with Sam behind the wheel. As a matter of fact, as Dean jogged the last block to the motel, the Impala was _nowhere_ to be found. There was no sign of the car on the streets nor in the parking lot.

"Dammit, Sam..." Dean dug around in his jeans, withdrawing the card-key that would open the door to their room. "What the hell is going on?"

Abruptly Dean stopped and plastered himself up close to the wall of their building. He'd rounded the corner and seen a door hanging open, light spilling out onto the darkness where there should have been no light. A quick count confirmed that it was their room standing open, and Dean cursed the fact he had no weapon. Something was definitely wrong.

Carefully, quietly, he edged along the front side of the building, hugging the wall and occasionally ducking into a doorway for more, if meager, concealment. He cocked his head, listening. Aside from the chirp of crickets and the rustle of a breeze through nearby trees, he heard nothing. Only silence came from the room. Dean crept closer until he could risk a quick glance inside the open door.

The room was empty. Dean carefully entered.

It was obvious there had been a fight. The table had been knocked over, along with a chair, and the hanging lamp above it had been torn down from the ceiling. Bits of plaster lay scattered over a mess of papers, books and Sam's laptop that had been thrown from the table when it toppled. A knife, one of Sam's, was sitting atop one of the beds, its blade bloody. There was no sign of Sam anywhere.

Nothing had been taken. Dean pulled a gun from his duffel and made sure it was loaded. He went through every bit of the room. This had not been a robbery. The only thing missing besides Sam was, presumably, the car. Dean fervently prayed Sam had the car and was simply in hot pursuit of whomever/whatever had trashed their room. He glanced at the knife again, hoping the blood wasn't his brother's but that Sam had gotten a good lick in on his foe.

A sound at the door made him turn. The gun was in his hand, raised and cocked in an instant. He sighted down the barrel.

The woman standing in the doorway gave a small cry and covered her head with her arms. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Please!"

It was Lisa, and Dean's first instinct _was _to shoot her. He wasn't an overly sentimental person – he couldn't be in his line of work – but the sight of her tear streaked face gave him pause. As he slowly lowered the gun she began crying again in earnest. Her shoulders shook as she stumbled into the room and sank into a chair. Dean debated on whether or not he should get her a tissue. Recalling that Sam was missing and Lisa probably had a hand in it convinced him to just let her wipe her damn nose on her sleeve.

"Where's my brother?"

"Sh...she has him." Lisa looked up. Her gray eyes were swollen and puffy. "She's going to kill him."

"Who is she?"

"Missy."

"Miss..." Dean scowled. There was no time to worry about figuring _that_ out, not when Sam's life was in jeopardy. "Did you see this? In a vision?"

Lisa nodded, and then yelped as Dean grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. There was no time for crying either. There was no time to waste at all.

"You're taking me to him, and you're going to tell me all about it on the way there."


	5. Chapter 5

It had started out as a game, as a lot of these things did. Missy had a slumber party and invited her friends from school. Despite her protests, her mother insisted she invite Lisa, Missy's friend from elementary school. Lisa was not a part of the high school _in_ crowd.

When the other girls giggled over boys and gave each other make-overs, Lisa hovered in the background. It was not until Missy produced the talking-board that Lisa got interested.

Hearing this, Dean groaned. "A Ouija board? Those things don't work."

At least, in his experience, they didn't. According to Lisa they did. The girls unwittingly attracted a demon, and the demon attached itself to Missy. For all her pretty face and popularity, Missy had a lot of insecurities as a teen. Her parents had been going through a divorce, and she was left having to care for a younger sibling as her mother's alcoholism worsened. The demon used her weaknesses against her.

"He told her he was a spirit, a ghost, and that he'd been a soldier killed in battle. He said all kinds of romantic stuff." Lisa shook her head and grabbed the door handle in a white-knuckled grip as Dean sent her little Chevy airborne over a small rise in the road. "I think – no, I know - she fell in love with him. But the thing was, she couldn't talk to him without me there."

"Why?"

"I don't know," the girl remarked miserably. "I've always been...special. I see things. Sense things."

"So the power was yours." Dean shrugged. He'd heard of other cases where a psychic's energy had been used by another. "She used you to have talking-board sex with her demon boyfriend. I get it."

He got it good too. If Missy was adept at using psychics as batteries, things did not bode well for Sam.

"Turn here. Yeah, but then, after we graduated, he started talking about how she could bring him to life. He told us what to read, how to work the ritual. We were – scared – to go through with it the way he said we should. We wanted to try an experiment to see if it worked. Missy had a puppy..."

"Derek, I presume?" Swearing, Dean wrenched the wheel around to make another turn onto a narrow dirt road leading out of town.

"Yeah. That's the name they agreed to call him."

"Not its real name of course."

Lisa shook her head. "He was pissed. We put him in the dog, and then we couldn't get him out again. That's when I found out what Derek really was and I tried to talk to Missy but she just..." She trailed off, and left it there. "I wanted out of it, but she wouldn't let me. Derek rarely let me out of his sight. I tried to run once and he hunted me down. They needed me to do the ritual again, help him escape the dog into a human. I couldn't do it. This is a small town. I know everyone. I couldn't do that do someone I knew." The girl plucked nervously at her hair, a frayed thread at the end of her sweater. "We tried to find someone else. We tried scrying, and divination, but come up with nothing. We thought if we got a little publicity..."

"So Missy wrote her story to lure someone in from outside."

"Yes. We waited months before you showed up, and when you did, Derek went nuts. Insisted on using your brother in the ritual, but we had to get you away from him."

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pressed his foot down harder on the gas. "Son of a bitch." A second later something occurred to him. "Wait. If she needs you to do the ritual. Why are you here?"

She didn't answer right away. He had to prompt her.

"Lisa?"

"The demon's real name Kokabiel" Her brows dipped low. "When Sam came, he said I wouldn't be needed anymore. I don't understand that."

"Me either," Dean said softly. "And I wish I did."

* * *

The little Cavalier's headlights barely illuminated the dirt road ahead of them. Lisa had pointed their way into the foothills of the Ozarks where the roads were narrow (if there were any) and the woods grew thick around them. If someone wanted to remain hidden, it would be the perfect place in which to disappear. What Dean did see, however, were signs that another car had come through this particular place recently – very recently – and it was a wide, heavy car. No doubt, it was _his_ car.

"Take my brother, take my car. Now I'm really pissed," Dean muttered.

"Pull over," Lisa said suddenly. She'd been quiet for the last few miles and the sound of her voice startled him for a moment.

"What?"

"We're close. We'll have to go the rest of the way on foot or they'll hear us."

"Man..."

Dean eased the Chevy over to the narrow berm and parked it. He could see off to the side a narrow track leading up a hill into the woods. This, Lisa indicated, was the back way. The back way into what, she wouldn't say. All Dean knew is that it was going to require hiking up a hill, through the woods, in the dark. Not only was this something he hated doing, he felt as if it put them at a distinct disadvantage strategically. He'd almost prefer barging in the front door, guns blazing.

"Got a flashlight?"

Lisa shook her head, straightened her pony-tail, and headed off up the path. "Just follow the path."

"Or bug spray?" Dean added as an afterthought. The back of his neck was being attacked. "Dammit."

He scrambled to catch up with her, drawing his gun and releasing the safety as he went. She was already several paces ahead of him and moving quickly. For such a mousy, desk-bound girl Lisa was fit and fast. She climbed the steep, winding path like a little goat. Taller and heavier, Dean had a rougher time of it and after a moment was forced to abandon the notion of having his weapon drawn and ready. If he fell, he really didn't want to accidentally put a bullet in himself.

Just to prove this a prudent decision, the loose dirt beneath his feet gave way and he found himself backsliding down the hill on his knees. He dug in and righted himself, but not before giving Lisa even more ground. He could no longer see her in the dark. There would be no calling out to her either, as that might give them away. Dean had to settle with muttering curses to himself. This whole case sucked, he thought. He'd done more cursing in the last two days than he had all freakin' year.

His underlying concern was haste. He had seen how accurate Lisa's predictions could be, and if she saw Sam's death...

Heart pounding, Dean gritted his teeth and hauled himself up the trail. He was grateful when just a few feet further the slope leveled out and the going became much easier. Lisa was no where in sight, which didn't say much. It was a moonless night and the trees here furthest from the road grew tall, their branches thick with leaves. He could barely see a foot in front of his face.

At first he walked faster until, convinced the path was relatively safe, he felt confident enough to break into a jog. His confidence grew when he saw a faint, flicker of light up ahead and what he thought was Lisa crouched low at the end of the path where the woods opened up into a clearing.

Dean slowed his pace and drew his gun. He called her name in a barely audible whisper.

The crouching shadow turned its head. A bit of light caught its eyes, illuminating them. It answered Dean's whisper with a growl. This was obviously _not _Lisa. It was...

Derek.

"Shit."

He never got off a shot. In fact, he never even completed his curse. The rustle of leaves to his right caught his attention, distracting him. His vision only lasted a nanosecond, for that's all the time he got between seeing Lisa emerge from the trees and getting whacked in the forehead with a baseball bat.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean had always been athletic and so had Sam. John Winchester's training had insured that. He treated them like soldiers at boot camp and motivated them in a Yoda-like fashion.

"_There is no such thing as can't, dammit!"_

When Sam and Dean had seen _Return of the Jedi_, they'd both groaned in sympathy for Luke during his Dagobah days and thanked their lucky stars they did most of their training on the Great Plains and not in the Everglades.

Being athletic, however, and being an athlete, were two different things. In that respect Sam had a distinct advantage. He'd gone to war to be able to play soccer, which opened the door to both basketball and baseball as well. He'd have been drafted for track if the schedule hadn't conflicted with his other activities and he had been just too tall for football. No school they ever attended could find a football uniform to fit him.

Dean, on the other hand, was not an athlete. He much preferred watching as to participating. Give him a hot dog, a beer and a place in the stands close to the cheerleaders and he was a happy camper. It wasn't that he was incapable of playing the game, he just didn't possess much of a competitive drive when it came to sports. Nor, truth be told, could he maintain the grades to be _allowed_ to play. Dean's only contact with team sports was through Sam. When Sam practiced, Dean was drafted to play interference.

Once Sam had asked Dean to pitch a few balls at him so he could practice his swing. Dean, being a smart-ass, made his first pitch a fast ball – which Sam not only hit, but hit hard. Before Dean could react the ball came speeding back at him and nailed him right between the eyes.

It had produced a similar result and feeling as Lisa Holland hitting him with a Louisville Slugger and, as he had back then, he came to his senses hearing Sam's frantic and frightened voice asking him if he were okay.

_Uh, no._

Aside from the throbbing head, Dean was pissed at himself for walking right into a trap; and a trap it was too because as he shifted his weight and opened his eyes he realized he was tied down to a wooden table. About a foot away, similarly bound, was Sam. In the pale light that surrounded them, source unknown, Dean could make out some rather unpleasant looking stains on the table beneath his brother. Curling his fingers he could feel something sticky beneath them, and there was no mistaking the smell of blood. They were apparently not the first victims to be strapped down to these tables. Dean now realized the divination that had been going on, didn't require onions.

"Terrific," he muttered hoarsely. "This is just terrific." He blinked painfully. "You okay, Sammy?"

"Headache."

"Same here."

Sam grunted. "We got bagged by a couple of girls and a dog, Dean."

"Don't remind me. My ego hurts worse than my head." After a pause he realized what Sam had said. "A couple..."

Craning his sore head, he looked toward his feet and saw both Missy and Lisa standing there. Missy looked weary and worried. Lisa on the other hand, appeared smug and a little pissed. He realized how foolish he'd been to fall for her innocent nerd routine. The pretty Missy had come off as sharp and confident and Dean wondered now how much of that had been his own way of thinking. Now that they were together, it was clear that Lisa was the leader, Missy the follower.

"So," he said hoarsely. "Which witch is which?"

Missy's flinch and Lisa's frown gave them away. Lisa's story hadn't been a lie, she'd just changed a few things, mostly regarding the role she played. She was the brains. Missy was the brawn; only in this case Missy's brawn was her ability to perform ritualistic magic. Apparently she had healing in her bag of tricks too. The gash on her forehead from where she'd been hurt before was all but gone.

Another observation – there was a building behind them, a small barn with a utility light above the door. The door was open. No light shone inside. There were sigils chalked onto the stone lintel and along each side of the door. Dean didn't recognize them, but Sam did.

"It's a portal. They're building a portal," he whispered. "Dean. This can't be good."

Lisa came toward them, which was a relief because as she stopped between the two tables, Missy behind her, it was easier to see her. Lifting his head made Dean nauseous.

"And to think I actually considered being a gentleman and handing you a tissue," he told her. "You two should be nominated for Oscars."

Lisa smiled. "It opens doors. Nobody pays attention to the mousy wallflower, and when they do, it's generally dismissive. She can't possibly be dangerous. The sexy blond siren though..."

"Missy is the psychic," Sam concluded.

"And she was dangerous, to herself and others, before I came along. She owes me." Lisa shot a look over her shoulder at Missy, who hastily looked away. The statement was a reminder. "She's talented," she continued. "Powerful, but not powerful enough. I was hoping to draw in another psychic, someone to give her a boost."

"The article." From his expression, Dean could tell Sam was kicking himself in the ass for falling for it.

Missy nodded. "All we got though were kooks and assholes. We were both convinced you were the latter until the demon told us otherwise."

Lisa grinned. "I never dreamed of finding someone more powerful than Missy. My intent was to free only Kokabiel..." She gestured toward the building. "But now he can free his comrades too. He commands an army of spirits, and with them he will redeem all of mankind."

"He tell you that? Freeing a demon and a bunch of his little minions ain't good, lady!" Dean tugged at his wrists. They were tightly bound with chains, not rope. There was no way he was getting loose. "He fed you a line. You said it yourself, only it wasn't Missy. He took advantage of _you_!"

"He loves me."

"Demons don't love people, they love destruction and chaos!"

"You're wrong." Lisa said coldly. "He's not like other demons."

"He was one of the two-hundred," Sam interjected quietly. "The Fallen Ones. He used to be an archangel."

Dean turned his head and gave his brother a hard stare. "How do you know this stuff?"

Sam's response was patently nonchalant, as if he _weren't_ strapped down to a table about to have his guts removed. "I read more than the back of cereal boxes - and romance novels."

"We're about to die and _now_ you're being a smart ass? Nice, Sammy."

"Oh, you're not going to die," Lisa corrected. "You're both far too valuable for that."

Both brothers spoke at the same time.

"What?"

Smiling, she reached out and ran the back of her hand across Dean's cheek, before placing her palm down upon his chest, rubbing it in slow circles. It was an overtly sexual gesture that led Dean to figure out what she was up to before she actually said it. "You are the vessel, and Sam - well - he's always been slated for bigger things." She turned her head to give Sam a wry look. "That's right. Kokabiel is quite familiar with the demon who killed your mother. You might call them...associates."

Sam's voice was hoarse, filled with fear. "He's one of them too. The Fallen."

"That's right, and if you think I'm going to reveal which one, you're kidding yourself. True names have power, and I won't give that to you."

"But you toss Kokabiel's around freely."

"Only because we will need it to help him take the next step." Giving Dean's chest one last pat, she stepped aside and beckoned Missy forward.

Dean flinched away from her, but she didn't touch him. "I'm not going to be anybody's vessel, especially not a demon who's spent time inside a mangy dog. I won't let you do this."

"I won't be doing anything but setting things up," Missy replied softly. "I have the knowledge, but not the power." She turned her head and looked down at Sam. "You're going to do it."

Sam's jaws clenched, his nostrils flared. He was pissed, no bones about it. "Like hell I am," he spat.

From somewhere near their feet, Lisa laughed. "You've got that right. It will be exactly like Hell."


	7. Chapter 7

The words were not spoken in Latin. Dean couldn't tell what language Missy used as she began her recitation. He just knew it couldn't be good. He wondered if Sam knew, but his brother's face was betraying nothing. Sam was pissed and wearing his stubborn look, the one he frequently wore whenever their father was around. Even if it killed him, Sam was going to fight Missy tooth and nail. With his abilities he might have a chance, a slim chance.

As far as Dean could see it would come down to who could actually tap into Sam's abilities first, and in that scenario Missy was far more experienced. Sam had no idea how to use his freaky gifts. Unfortunately, if Sam failed - and it was likely he would - Dean was toast.

At some point the dog had come to sit between them at Missy's feet. Its face was nearly level with Dean's and at such close proximity he could not only smell its breath (unpleasant) but see a faint yellowish gleam in its eyes. The sight both frightened and infuriated him. How many had Sam said there were? Two-hundred? If the demon who killed Mary Winchester walked the Earth, there must be more out there. How many were still trapped in Hell, like Kokabiel had been before he was partially freed? What exactly was going to come through that portal?

What would happen to _him_ if Kokabiel was successful in possessing his body?

None of the answers were forthcoming.

"Hold on, Sammy. Don't let that bitch use you!"

Missy hesitated, but only for a second. A quick glance at Lisa and her will crumbled. Dean wondered if he couldn't use her obvious reluctance as an opportunity to get her on his side, but by the time he decided to try, it was too late. Her eyes were closed. She had gone into trance, and like Sam when the visions struck him, she was unreachable.

A moment later Missy reached out her hands. Dean could see them shaking, and he could see a faint, greenish light begin to form around them. The light was reflected in Sam's eyes as he watched her left hand drift closer to his face. Her progression was slow, until, like a striking cobra she suddenly plunged her hand down to his forehead. Dean jerked his arms against the chains.

"SAM!"

Sam had been moving his head, trying to escape her, but the instant she touched him his body shuddered and his struggles ceased. His expression shifted from one of determination, to one of fear. His mouth fell slack. His eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. Dean heard him moan.

"Let him go!" He pulled his hands against the chains looped around each wrist, hoping he could find some slack – enough to squeeze his hands through to freedom. A glance back at Sam revealed not Sam, but Missy's right hand hovering over his own face. "Don't you touch me! Don't! Don't..."

Her hand fell upon his brow. He was immediately filled with cold, a cold so shocking to his system all his attempts to free himself stopped abruptly. He was paralyzed. The freezing cold sensation was painful; he wanted to scream but could not make a sound. There was no sound, only silence, and darkness. He could not see.

Not at first.

A moment later there was light, and vision. He could see and hear again, but what he saw and heard made no sense to him. Visions came fast and furious, voices blended together into an incomprehensible babble. Only now and again was something made clear, as if the stream of information hit a speed bump, slowing enough for him to lock on to it.

_Bright spring sunshine. A whistle blows. Boys call to one another as they race across a brilliant green field after a ball. _

"_Winchester! Move your ass!"_

Bump.

_His father's face, twisted in hurt and anger. Dean's face, miserable, full of fear as John thrusts out a hand and points to the door. _

"_Get out then if that's what you want. GO! But don't think you're ever coming back, do you understand me? You walk out that door Sam and you aren't coming back!"_

_He feels his heart beating fast in his chest. He feels anger, fear and betrayal as he g_rips the _handles of his duffel tightly in his fist. There is no other choice. He wants out that badly..._

Bump.

_She's sitting at a table in the library, her blond hair falling forward to partially obscure her face. It's early morning, and the sun is shining down through a window high in the wall above her. The light pools around her, illuminating her golden hair, her white blouse, making her look as if she were glowing from within. When she raises her head to look at him her beauty takes his breath away. _

"_You're Sam, I presume."_

"_Uh...yeah. Yeah. How did you know?"_

"_Grace said you were tall. Hi, I'm Jess."_

"_Hi. I'm...oh." _

_She laughs, and he's..._

Sam. These aren't his memories. These are Sam's!

Bump.

_The gun floats in the air between them. Dean's gun. Max's power. It's cocked and ready to fire as it turns toward the frightened woman. _

"_Max..."_

_Dean is there, stepping between the woman and the gun. "If you want her, you have to go through me first." _

_No. No. No. No._

_Max is unreachable. He's mad. The power has driven him insane. "Okay," he whispers._

_It's fast, deadly fast, and gruesome. The back of Dean's skull is shattered when the bullet exits, taking bone and brain with it to decorate the wall in some obscene Pollock-like manner. He never knew what hit him. His eyes are wide in surprise as he falls to the floor, dead long before he hits it._

"_NO!" _

Dean arched his back as he felt the surge of power cross over from his brother. Gritting his teeth, he groaned in pain. His head felt like he _had_ been shot, like it was about to explode. With effort he managed to look over at Sam who lay motionless, barely conscious, his eyes still rolled back in his head.

"Sam..." he gasped, and felt the echo as his own voice returned to him through the bond Missy had formed. "Sammy..."

Missy had released them, but the conduit between them remained. Dean heard the dog whine as she placed the hand she had removed from Dean upon its head instead. As soon as she touched him his pricked ears fell back against his neck, and he growled softly.

"Soon, love." Lisa said quietly.

Missy reached out toward Sam.

This time, when her fingers touched him between the eyes, he let out a sharp cry of pain, and Dean, on the other end of the line, felt it too. A moment later he felt something else, a presence, some almost painful tickling sensation that filled his mind. It grew stronger and stronger. He could sense another consciousness barreling toward him through the link between himself and his brother – and this time, it was not Sam's.

It attacked him, suffocating his mind, his consciousness. It separated him from his body, imprisoning him in some dark corner of his own head from which he could not escape. From this distant point he could hear himself scream, and when the scream turned to laughter he knew for certain he was no longer in control. Fear and pain drove him toward the only option he had left.

Darkness rose up around his mind like the cold waters of a haunted lake, drowning him.


	8. Chapter 8

Freedom. He had not been free to walk the Earth in centuries, trapped first within a fiery prison on the plane of Hell, and then in some odd dimension between the two, where the power of the witch-girl finally woke him. He'd gotten closer, so close, when they performed the first ritual only to be stopped by the limitations of the canine mind. Without a human host he could not fully enter the world.

But now...

Lisa freed him from his bonds. He bent to kiss her, touched her in a place of promises, a place that made her gasp. His lips brushed her cheek as he pulled away and left her trembling.

"Later, love," he whispered, and she believed him. Oh, he would take his pleasure of her later, when his job was done here, but he doubted she would find it to her enjoyment. His pleasure was her pain.

For now, there were more pressing matters and he turned to attend to them. Lisa remained behind him, standing before the witch-girl still caught up in trance. The threads of power still connected him to her, and through her, the boy. He could feel his own power begin to reawaken. It was time.

"Kokobiel!"

He stopped as a figure emerged from the darkness. It was, he sensed, another of his kind, and it came to stand before him, blocking his way. He could not continue until he confronted this other demon. This would take up valuable time and energy he did not wish to sacrifice. He had to prepare the portal now, while he still commanded the girl and the boy. The additional boost of power would be all that he needed to free the spirits of his army. The humans were already weakening, and would not survive the ritual. It would burn them out, leave them mindless and all but dead – a pity - but some sacrifices must be made. He needed to move quickly before they weakened any further.

This intrusion, this delay, was more than irritating. Hadn't he been patient enough, barely surviving months trapped inside the instinct clouded mind of a dog? A DOG! When he was finished here, Lisa would indeed pay for that foolishness.

"Rameel," he said, acknowledging the other's presence.

The other demon's eyes flared golden. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Freeing my comrades." Kokabiel nodded his head toward the doorway. "When one cannot open a door, one must make a new one. Isn't this _your_ plan, old friend?"

"No. It is not. My plan is to open _the_ gate. Colt's gate."

Kokabiel laughed."With what?" He threw a hand back behind him, gesturing toward the boy. "That? Your _children_? You'll still need the key, Rameel, and that you do not have."

The yellow-eyed-demon approached slowly. He'd taken an man older than the body Kokabiel now wore. If things got physical Kokabiel would have the advantage. He clenched his fists. He would have a distinct advantage. This boy's body was familiar with hand-to-hand combat.

"I don't have the key, but it will be found very soon, and I will not let you destroy our means of using it."

"Is that a threat?"

"Yes." Rameel raised a hand. "It is."

He was surprised at the other demon's power. It twisted his body around and slammed him into the side of the barn with enough force to crack some of the siding beneath his back. He could not move. An attempt to draw more power burned out one of his sources. The girl shuddered, and fell limply to the ground. The boy moaned as Kokabiel tightened his grip on him and pulled more energy. In response he he felt the mind of the one he possessed stir within him.

_Sammy!_

With brutal force he shoved it back down. He didn't bother to shout a warning to the other girl, Lisa, who had cried out his name and rushed forward. A flick of the wrist and Rameel snapped her neck. She too fell to the ground, limp and lifeless.

Yellow eyes flared bright. Rameel's anger was palpable. Kokabiel gasped as he felt his power being drawn away from him. He grew weaker and weaker. He took again from the boy, soaking up his psychic energy, and moving on to drain his life force until, suddenly, the connection was severed. He gazed at his adversary in shock.

"How...?"

Rameel sneered at him. "You've struck out, Kokabiel. You could have never opened a portal. You haven't the power, and his..." He nodded toward the boy. "Belongs to me."

"You selfish bastard." Kokabiel's anger disguised his fear. He was outmatched, and he knew well this one's reputation for ruthlessness.

The other demon grinned. "That's right, I am. I've walked this plane for very a long time, _old friend_, and when the time comes, I will be its master. I've more than earned that right."

"_He_ will have something to say about that."

Rameel's grin broadened. "He does. Who do you think guides my hand?" He took a step back, and raised his chin. "And he has requested your presence. There are some past indiscretions on your part that he wants to discuss." With a chuckle, he added. "Go to Hell, Kokabiel, and stay out of my business."

* * *

Pain. It was a burning agony that shot fire through every nerve. It twisted his muscles into knots and tightened ligaments until he felt as if every bone in his body would snap in two. As soon as the pain and pressure slackened, nausea sucker-punched him in the gut. He fell to his knees, retching, clutching his stomach as he dry heaved into the dirt. A horrid, metallic taste filled his mouth. He spit, and caught the scent of sulfur on his breath.

Groaning, Dean collapsed against the side of the barn, unable to get his legs beneath him again. For several minutes he could only sit there panting. Sweat beaded up on his forehead. He wiped it away with his sleeve. Dizzy, sick and aching, he had to wait until his vision cleared before he could get up again.

"Sammy..."

No sound came out. His throat was raw. His voice was just a breath. He crawled on hands and knees toward Lisa but he knew long before he reached out a hand to check her pulse, that she was dead. Her head lay at an unnatural angle to her body. Her neck had been broken.

Afraid of the worst, Dean painfully regained his feet and stumbled toward the table where his brother lay motionless. Sam's hair was wet with sweat but when Dean touched his pale white face, his skin was cold to the touch.

"Sam? Sammy!"

He dropped his hand to Sam's throat and found a weak pulse. He was barely breathing, barely alive. Something had to be done, and quickly.

Missy lay at his feet. He knelt unsteadily. She also lived, barely. Dean searched her and Melissa for the key to the chains holding Sam. He found them on Lisa, tucked into the pocket of the frumpy sweater she'd been wearing. Another search for their cell phones was unsuccessful, but he did discover the Impala parked behind the barn. He'd have to get Sam to a hospital himself.

A wave of dizziness struck him again as he hurried back to free his brother. He had to stop and steady himself on the corner of the barn. It took him a minute before everything stopped spinning and he found his strength again. When he did, he looked up to see Missy on her feet, standing over Sam.

"Get away from him!" Dean staggered forward, slowly gaining momentum. Reaching Missy he wrapped his hand around her arm and spun her around to face him. "I said leave him alone!"

"You don't understand..."

"What don't I understand? You did this!"

"I didn't want to! Please!" Missy pushed her tangled blond hair back from her face. Her mascara had run, making the tracks of her tears clearly visible down her cheeks. "Lisa...she was not what you think. She protected me. I thought I would go crazy. She taught me how to live with these...gifts." She shook her head. "No," she amended. "This curse. But it all changed. When the demon came she changed. It was the demon! She...she wasn't what you think! "

"You know what, screw you. Tell your sob story to someone who cares." Dean abruptly let her go and began unlocking the chains around Sam's wrists and ankles. "You're not the victim in all this, and neither was she. Don't try to play me, I know better."

"I'm not saying that!"

"You've killed innocent people," Dean growled.

"Then let me save one!" Missy cried.

Dean hesitated. He glanced from her back toward Sam. The rise and fall of his brother's chest was barely discernible. His pallor had increased and his lips bore a distinct blueish tinge.

"You'll never get him down this mountain in time, Dean. The nearest hospital is miles away. He'll be dead long before you get there." Missy clutched at his sleeve. "Please. I can help him."

There was, Dean realized, nothing to lose. He wasn't sure he trusted her, but she was not lying about Sam's chances. Dean knew she told the truth in that regard. Sam was dying, and even as fast as the Impala was, there was no way Dean could save him.

"You do anything but heal him, and I'll put a bullet in you, I swear to God." Dean moved aside, allowing her within reach of Sam. "You got that?"

"Got it," Missy said softly. She closed her eyes, and put her hands to Sam's chest.

She was exhausted. It showed in every line in her face, and that convinced Dean of her sincerity - that she would save Sam despite the risk to herself. It took her longer to go into trance but somehow she managed. A faint, very faint, greenish glow enveloped her hands once again and this time it slowly spread through her fingers down into and around Sam. Neither one of them appeared to be breathing. Everything around them became unnaturally still.

Dean could only watch, and wait. He leaned heavily against the other table, and flinched in surprise as he felt something brush up against his leg. In all the excitement he'd forgotten about the dog. Looking down he saw Derek standing beside him.

The shepherd lowered his head, put his ears back, and pushed his long nose beneath Dean's hand. There was a kinship between them, he thought with a small smile. They'd both been possessed by the same demon.

"Good boy," Dean murmured, and felt an odd sense of relief as he stroked the dog's broad head. He would not to have to wage his vigil alone. Slowly he slid to the ground, unable to continue standing. His gaze remained on Missy, as she silently poured her healing power into Sam. Derek lay next to him, and together they waited.

"Come on, Sammy. Hold on."


	9. Chapter 9

The shower washed away the dirt and grime and blood, but it didn't wash away the cuts and bruises, or – Dean grimaced as he soaped up the back of his neck – the mosquito bites.

He was glad Sam had gotten cleaned up at the hospital. All the motel room's hot water was now Dean's for the taking, and he took it. His body ached all over. There were livid bruises all across his shoulders he couldn't account for, and a nasty purple shiner he attributed to Lisa's baseball bat. The blow had also split open a cut across his right brow. Both knees were scraped raw and he couldn't tell if that was from his fall going up the path, or from the manhandling Lisa and Missy had given him while he was unconscious. The chains had left bruises around both wrists and ankles.

In a nutshell, he looked and felt like shit.

The shower helped tremendously. He stood under the spray for a long time, relishing the warmth. He vaguely remembered the sensation of cold that had swept over him during the possession. It had lingered even after the fact. He'd sat in the hospital waiting room while the doctors poured over Sam, shivering despite his heavy coat and two shirts, and wondering if it weren't actually shock.

He didn't remember much after the demon took over. Only once had he managed to fight his way back up, only to be struck by an agonizing pain that sent him tumbling down into darkness again. One thing he was sure of was that the demon _had_ possessed him and it was now gone. Why it let him go, was going to remain a mystery. That was frustrating. Dean hated loose ends.

Dean concluded his sabbatical with the shower at the first hint of the water growing colder. Wrapping a towel around his middle, he exited the bathroom rubbing his hair with another towel, and lowered said towel just in time to see Sam closing the door behind him. Apparently they'd had a visitor while Dean was cleaning up.

"You look like shit, Dean," Sam said bluntly, almost absently.

"Mr. Obvious strikes again," Dean grunted. He finished with his hair and threw the towel around his neck as he rummaged through his bag for sweats and a t-shirt. Sleep beckoned. He couldn't suppress a yawn. "Who was that?"

"Sheriff Dunbar. Missy is dead."

Dean started. "What?"

After she'd healed Sam, Missy had collapsed. Weak, but definitely alive, she'd been hospitalized along with Sam so that doctors could make sure they were both going to be all right. Sam was a little rough around the edges to be sure, but he would be fine once he got some rest. Dean had assumed Missy would likewise recover.

Sam sat down on the end of one of the beds. If Dean looked like shit, Sam looked like shit warmed over. He was still very pale. "She made a full confession. Dunbar put her under arrest, posted a guard outside her room. When they went back to release her into his custody later..."

"Sam?"

Lowering his gaze to the floor, Sam tried to hid the tears in his eyes. "She, uhm...hung herself, Dean." He shook his head slowly. "There was this steel shelf...for the television. She took a sheet and...hung herself."

"Christ." Dean pulled on his clothes, brow creased. "Why? I mean...

"She killed herself," Sam repeated softly. "Just like Max."

Dean felt a chill run up his spine. He tossed his wet towels onto the credenza and sat down on his own bed. "Don't, Sam," he said firmly. "Don't even go there. Missy wasn't like Max, and you aren't like them."

"But my abilities _are _like theirs." Sam looked at him pleadingly. "I don't want to be anybody's pawn, Dean. I don't want to go crazy. I don't want to do bad things."

"You're incapable of doing bad things," Dean replied, and attempted a smile. "You're already crazy, and the only person going to use you as a pawn is me, because I'm your big brother and that's what little brothers are for."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. These mosquito bites are driving _me_ bat-shit crazy. You have to go get me some Benadryl, Calamine, something..." To prove his point he scratched the back of his neck. "I'm dyin' here, Sammy."

Sam glared at him, exasperated. "I can't talk to you."

"Sam," Dean sighed. "I promise, I'm not going to let anything happen to you. So just...stop worrying about it, okay? Please."

_Because you're scaring me._

There was no reply, and Dean knew Sam wouldn't stop worrying about it. He'd just stop worrying about it out loud. For now though, that was all Dean could ask of him.

Sam pulled the Impala's keys from his pocket. He toyed with them a moment before he stood up. "Dean, there's something else."

"What?"

"In the hospital, before they released me, I talked to Missy. I asked her what happened. The ritual was successful. You _were_ possessed, Dean, and it let you go. I asked Missy why, and she said she didn't know, but that it was arguing, with another demon, just before she lost consciousness."

Dean frowned. "Another demon?"

Sam nodded. "Dean," he whispered. "I think it might have been the one that killed Mom. I think Kokabiel was _forced_ to let you go."

A shudder ran through Dean's body. The very idea of possession made him queasy in the first place. If he could have opened up his head and washed out his mind in the shower he would have done it. He felt unclean already, but to know that _the _demon had been there and it had _saved_ him...

"How do you know?"

"I just...have a feeling is all." If it were possible, Sam looked even more miserable. His voice was plaintive. "What does it want with us, Dean? What does all this mean?"

"I don't know," he replied softly, echoing the words he'd said to Lisa. "I wish I did, Sammy."

With a heavy sigh, Sam turned toward the door. "I'll be back. You need anything else?"

"No. Thanks."

Sam nodded, and left the room.

When he was gone, Dean waited a until he heard the Impala's engine roar into life and the sound of the car pulling away from the curb. Thus assured Sam was truly gone, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed speed-dial.

Voice mail. No surprise. It took him a second before he could get it together enough to start talking.

"Dad," he stopped and cleared his throat. "We're in Arkansas. We might have had a run-in with the thing that killed Mom. I think it's heading West again. Watch your back."

Dean hung up. He'd felt the need to say something more, but didn't know how to say it. For all that he was afraid _for_ Sam, there had been times here recently when he'd felt afraid _of _Sam. The power he'd felt unleashed this night had been terrifying, and to know it had come from his little brother...

"Nothing is going to happen to Sammy," he reassured himself softly. "I swear."

As always, he slipped a hand beneath his pillow as he lay down, to make sure the gun was still there. The cold steel was even more reassuring. Nothing - no demon, no witch - was going to get his brother and warp him like it had warped Lisa Holland.

Not as long as Dean lived.


End file.
